


Family

by Foxtrot909



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-25 22:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxtrot909/pseuds/Foxtrot909
Summary: Post 8x03





	Family

Arya felt the dagger pierce the Night King, and his grip on her throat and arm shattered along with the rest of him. She fell to the ground with the shards of ice that used to be the embodiment of death. She heard the silence that swept through Winterfell as the dead fell, defeated for now. 

Not today.

She turned her gaze to Bran and felt a weak smile break across her face. Bran remained, as always, devoid of emotion. She realized that he probably always knew it would end this way. She remembered the strange look on his face when he had given her the dagger, as if he knew he was setting a course of events into action that would lead back here, to the heart of the Godswood.

Arya sheathed her dagger and pulled herself to her feet, fighting the overwhelming exhaustion that had her whole body screaming with every movement. She made it a few steps towards Bran, intending to push him out of the Godswood, away from the death. But she collapsed next to his chair, unable to go any further. She sat there for a few minutes closing her eyes and listening to the wind blowing through the trees, the old gods whispering her name.

She heard three sets of feet enter the Godswood and approach her and Bran, heard Jon yell their names and break into a run. She felt him hugging Bran above her head. 

“What happened? Who killed him? Is Arya okay?” Jon’s stream of questions did not stop as he kneeled next to her, cupping her face between his hands and surveying the damage.

“I’m fine. I’m too tired to open my eyes,” she croaked, surprised by how deep the pain of the Night King’s hand on her throat permeated. She heard one of the other people that had entered the Godswood with Jon let out a huff of air. She wondered who it was.

“Arya killed him,” Bran said in his usual stoic voice.

“Arya?” Jon had always believed in her. He had given her Needle, knowing she desired a sword more than knitting needles. But they had been apart for years. He seemed to have forgotten that she had learned much since they had parted. “How?”

“Stuck him with the pointy end,” Arya mumbled, wondering if she had ever been so tired when she heard the way her words slurred together.

“It had to be her. Always, it was to be her,” Bran explained. “She knows death better than any of us, better even than you, Jon, who has died. She served death, as her god, for many years, becoming the most skilled assassin in the world, gaining the skillset necessary to kill him. And she chose to turn away from it, she chose to remember Arya Stark, and to come back home. She found love again, and reasons to fight for the living. I gave her the dagger, knowing she needed it, and then I had to wait for him to come back to her. They cut it a little close, waiting until just last night, but it was enough. The magic of a new life taking root in her womb, conceived in love and trust, was the last thing she needed to truly strike down death. Just in time, but there are old words that they say about Baratheons. ‘The seed is strong.’” 

Arya’s heart twisted as she clutched her stomach. She had not thought she would live long enough to worry about Gendry’s seed quickening within her. And then a horrible thought crossed her mind. “Did he make it?” She asked in a voice so quiet she wasn’t sure Bran would hear it. 

“I’m right here,” Gendry’s voice rang out, clear and strong, and she opened her eyes at last, finding his blue eyes, so much different, so much warmer than the blue eyes she had shut forever. He spared Jon a nervous glance, and she could see out of the corner of her eyes that he was glaring at Gendry. But she raised her hand to him, the one that wasn’t clutching her stomach, and he all but sprinted forward to take it, collapsing onto his knees on her other side. He placed one hand in her outstretched hand and settled the other one over the hand that clutched her stomach. She pulled that hand out from under his, before placing it back on top of his, relishing the warmth that she felt radiating through her entire body from his palm. 

“I’m so sorry. I should have —“ Gendry began.

“Don’t. I’m not sorry,” Arya said, pressing her forehead to his. “I love you,” she whispered, even though Bran had just said as much.

“I love you too,” he said, just as quiet, before pressing a single chaste kiss to her lips. He pulled away quickly and grasped her face between his hands, looking at the cut on her forehead. She examined his face as he examined hers. He was covered in blood and mud, but she couldn’t see anything more serious than a scrape on his right brow. He had moved well when he ran for her. He seemed, miraculously, unharmed. 

Jon still had not moved and Arya let her eyes drift over to him, finding him staring at her and Gendry with an unreadable look on his face. She raised her eyebrow, wondering if he would challenge what he was seeing. But his face softened. 

“You will have to get married,” he finally said.

“I don’t have to do anything, Jon. I saved the world, I’m pretty sure I say what happens in my life now.”

“She could still drink moon tea, though she won’t,” Bran said, unhelpfully.

She looked back at Gendry, and found him examining her neck, where the Night King had gripped. “Hey, stupid. Do you want to get married?”

His eyes snapped up to hers, and she saw him fight a smile, before saying, “I want what you want, milady,” he teased, fully aware Arya was too tired to take a swing at him, though he knew she wanted to. “If you want to get married, then I’ll marry you. If you don’t, then I’ll be by your side until my dying breath anyway.”

She thought about that for a moment, before turning back to Jon and saying, “As luck would have it, Jon, we want to get married. Now will someone please get me to a fire? It’s bloody freezing out here.”

Gendry put his arms under Arya’s, helping her to her feet, before securing his left arm around her waist and holding her right hand over his shoulders. Jon stood too, and went around the back of Bran’s chair and began pushing him. Arya noticed the redhaired wildling standing at the edge of the clearing, smiling. As they approached him, he clapped Gendry on the shoulder. 

“Good fighting tonight. And congratulations,” he said, before looking at Arya curiously. “Thank you, little wolf. You saved us all.” Arya nodded her head, unsure of what to say. Jon stopped as they walked past Theon, and bent down, closing his eyes. They would come back for the body later.

As they walked back into the courtyard, Jon and Tormund working together to get Bran’s chair through the rubble, the doors to the crypts burst open, and Sansa emerged, looking ragged and tired, but unharmed. Her eyes were wide as she took in the scene and she looked like she was on the verge of panic when she saw them all, working their way towards her. She broke into a run and didn’t stop until she was in Jon’s arms. They held each other and Arya took a moment to marvel at how well they got on, how well they seemed to understand each other. Jon was just as much a brother to Sansa now as he had always been to Arya, and her heart was warmed by the thought. 

“Is it really over? Did we win?” Sansa pulled back from Jon, looking at his face, before leaning down to hug Bran. “Are you alright?” She directed the last question at Arya.

“Arya won. The battle was lost, and Arya saved us all. She stuck her dagger in the Night King’s heart,” Jon said, seeming to have come to terms with the fact. He looked to her with pride.

“Of course she did,” Sansa said, cupping Arya’s cheek and beaming at her. “My strange little sister saved the world.” 

“I’m fine, Sansa. I’m exhausted and I took a few blows to the head. I’m a little unsteady on my feet, and I need rest. I might need your stitching skills on my forehead,” Arya explained. She had learned how to take care of herself when she was injured a long time before.

Sansa smiled and looked to Tormund, who had caught sight of Brienne across the yard and was gazing at her fondly, and then to Gendry. “Thank you so much for helping my sister. What was your name?”

“Gendry, milady. Gendry Waters.”

“Robert’s bastard that I told you about. And Arya’s betrothed,” Jon said.

Sansa smiled and nodded her head at Gendry before she processed what Jon had said. Then her face twisted in confusion as Arya smiled up at Gendry, who was flushing but holding eye contact with the formidable Sansa Stark. She seemed to study him for a moment, pleased that he didn’t back down from her gaze. 

“You love him, Arya?” Sansa asked, finally looking away from Gendry. 

Arya looked at Sansa and said, “I do,” without any hesitation.

“And you love my sister?” She said, looking back to Gendry.

“More than anything,” he said.

Sansa seemed to find what she was looking for in Arya and Gendry’s determined faces. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements. Maybe in couple days when we’ve had some time to clean up a bit, and lay the dead to rest,” Sansa said, as she began to survey the damage in detail. Arya could almost see the plans forming in her head of how to go about rebuilding Winterfell. 

Arya turned her attention back to Gendry, who looked at her with amazement. He had never expected her family to be so accepting of their loving each other. With Jon, he figured it had to do with the baby, but with Lady Sansa, she didn’t know that bit. She had simply accepted that they loved each other. That was enough for her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting me to bed?” Arya whispered to Gendry as Sansa set about ordering the survivors that were still standing to get the more seriously injured fighters into the castle. She ordered a few young girls that had come up with her from the crypts to retrieve the medical supplies and bring them to the great hall. 

“No, I’m supposed to be getting you to a fire. We need to get your head taken care of before you sleep,” Gendry said, as he began moving her towards the great hall of Winterfell. When they got to the door, they found the Hound leaning against the frame, looking beaten down, but pleased, in his way, to see Arya still standing.

“You made it. Did you remember where the heart was?” He said gruffly.

“I did. An old friend showed me once,” Arya said, looking him in the eye and giving him a small smile. He ruffled her hair before pushing off the wall and walking into the courtyard to help bring in the injured.

Gendry led Arya in and sat her down at a table. His heart lurched as he turned around and saw Beric Dondarrion, dead, slumped against a wall. He was the man that had sold him to the red woman. But he was also the man that he fought with beyond the wall. 

“He died protecting me,” Arya said quietly behind him. He didn’t respond as he stoked the fire and then began to help move the bodies that littered the hall outside. He began to wonder if he would ever be able to wash the stink of death away. Beric’s body was placed in the yard next to Jorah and Lyanna Mormont, who had been laid next to each other when the Unsullied general returned with the Dragon Queen, covered in blood and her face streaked with tears, still cradling the face of the fallen knight. When the great hall had been cleared of the dead, and the young girls from the crypts returned with the healing supplies, Gendry returned to Arya. She was still slumped against the table, wishing she could help, but unable to support her own weight.

He brought over a bowl of water and a wash rag and began cleaning the blood and mud off her face. He was pleased to see the cut was not actually very bad once all the gore had been wiped away, though the whole right side of her face seemed to be blossoming into a bruise. She flinched with every pass of the wash rag. Once her face was clean, he pushed the bowl away. He didn’t know what to do next.

But Arya simply rinsed the rag and began to wipe away at the grime on his face. The scrape on his brow was even less severe than hers. She was pleased to find his face under all the muck, missing the handsome way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he looked at her. They simply smiled at each other for a few minutes, touching their faces. Gendry swept his thumb across Arya’s lower lip and she felt her breath hitch before Sansa approached. She seemed to regret interrupting a tender moment, but Arya smiled warmly and reached her hand out, grasping Sansa’s. She leaned over and looked at the cut. 

“I don’t think it needs stitching. What do you think Gendry?” She said, turning to the blacksmith. 

Gendry looked startled to be consulted on the matter by the Lady of Winterfell, but he answered calmly, “I agree, Lady Stark. It isn’t a big cut, and it should heal well.”

“Yes. Then I think it’s off to bed. I’ve had a bath drawn in your chambers Arya. Gendry, would you like me to have a bath drawn for you as well? Do you sleep in the forge?”

“That won’t be necessary, Sansa,” Arya answered for him. “We can make do with the one.” And Arya somehow found the energy to stand up, grasping Gendry’s hand as he stood next to her and leaning against him a little.

Sansa looked slightly scandalized at Arya’s implication, but she seemed to remember to whom she was talking, so she turned and said, “If you must,” before heading back out into the courtyard.

Arya led the way to her room, leaning on Gendry the whole way. She was relieved to find that it was untouched by the dead that had made their way into the castle. The bath by the fire was still steaming. They helped each other undress, as they had the night before. They were both moving a lot slower, but still smiling and kissing the whole time, relieved to have lived, relieved to be in each others arms. Arya was concerned to find a large bruise across Gendry’s chest, but he insisted that he was alright. He helped her into the bath and climbed in after her. It was a much roomier tub than he was used to, and he settled in comfortably behind her, with his legs bracketing her hips. They both sat still for a few minutes, enjoying the heat on their sore bodies, before Gendry reached for the washrag sitting on the edge of the tub and began to clean the grime from Arya’s body, taking great care not to cause her any pain when he found bruises. When he finished, she turned around and sat on her knees, doing the same for him. He washed her hair as best as he knew how, considering he had never washed anyones hair before. They climbed out and he wrapped her in a warm robe he saw hanging on the door, before carrying her over to the bed.

Once they were both settled under the furs, facing each other, the weight of the night seemed to come crashing down on Gendry. He let out a choked sob, turning away, ashamed at his weakness, but Arya pulled him back to face her. She pulled his head to her chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him as he cried.

“I would never have let him take you,” she whispered. No one would ever separate them again, not even death himself.

He looked up at her face, saying, “I don’t care about myself. I was worried I would lose you. For good this time. I couldn’t have gone on without you, Arya. Not now that I finally have you back.”

“I love you, Gendry. Please try to care a little about yourself. I would be very cross if you went and got yourself killed.”

He chuckled at that, and then he seemed to realize how close he was to her breasts as her chest rose and fell next to his face. He brought a hand up and pushed away the robe that was still wrapped around her slight frame, exposing one nipple that pebbled in the cold air. He latched his mouth around it and heard her gasp, felt her hips jerk towards him involuntarily. He rolled her so that she was on her back, pressing his hips between hers, his cock already hardening as it brushed the soft curls between her legs. She pulled her arms out of the robe before grabbing his head and pulling his face to hers, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. 

Gendry propped an elbow under one of Arya’s shoulders, and his free hand drifted down between her folds, slipping a finger inside and spreading the moisture up to the small bundle of nerves above her entrance. He stroked her in fast but gentle circles as she bucked her hips up against him. Once he deemed she was wet enough, he grasped his cock and sheathed himself inside her in one swift motion, returning his fingers to her clit. He broke their kiss, and she opened her eyes, and they stared at each other as he moved inside of her. It wasn’t long before he felt her walls begin to flutter around him, clenching as she reached her release. Watching her face as she fell apart beneath him was enough to push him over the edge as well.

Arya latched her ankles around his waist as he came, holding him as close as possible as she felt his warm seed in her belly for the second time. She was grateful that they needn’t worry about the consequences of him finishing inside her, the damage already being done. He panted into her neck as he came down from his climax, before pulling away. She felt empty for a moment, before remembering that there was a part of him that would stay inside her for many moons. He lay back on the bed next to her as her hands drifted down to cup her belly again. She knew she wouldn’t feel a change for a little while, but part of her imagined that she could already feel the little girl moving inside her.

Gendry noticed that she seemed distracted, and saw her hands holding her belly. He placed one hand next to hers, before whispering, “I know you never wanted this. Marriage, children. I’m sorry.”

Arya turned her head to look at him and she was smiling. “I never wanted to be a lady. Taking care of some lord’s house, being treated as a broodmare to carry on his name. But I wanted to be your family. Now we will be.”

Gendry leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on her head as Arya rolled away, allowing him to pull her back to his chest. They both drifted off into a peaceful sleep for a couple hours, their hands still cradled protectively around Arya’s womb, a family at last.


End file.
